


Duties and Desires

by Shelbylove17



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, ACOTAR
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, The Night Court
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 20:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16605275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shelbylove17/pseuds/Shelbylove17
Summary: Both Mor and Rhysand rule the Night Court, the territory spilt down the middle. Rhysand and Feyre are still in love and the Court of Dreams is thriving. Mor is left to rule her land alone...or is she?OrWhat if Mor hadn't met Andromache all those years ago, in times of conflict and instability. What if, instead, they met in the Night Court after the war.





	Duties and Desires

Her feet pad along the stone corridor. It was quieter than it should have been, even for the time of night. There should be people moving to and from other rooms, going about their duties. But it was only her and her footsteps. Something wasn’t right, her concern only grew. She speeds up, needing to know why she was called for. She was never called for at this time since her nightly duties fell on others. She halts outside the towering wooden doors, unsure of what she will find behind them. She hesitates, her hand resting on the cool metal handle. Her concern is quickly turning to something like dread.

 

She takes a deep breath, taking a second to tell herself it was nothing serious and if it was there would be at least other people around. She pushes the door open with a click, it takes her eyes a second to adjust to the darkness of the rooms. The fire casts a soft orange glow throughout the sleeping room, highlighting the empty bed and two figures in armchairs placed in front of the warmth of the fire. There is no sound beyond that of the crackling of the burning wood and light breathing. The atmosphere is a complete contrast to when she walked in this morning. What had changed? She had missed her lunch duties but that couldn’t be the reason for the difference in the feeling of the room. The near silent shuffle of her footsteps give her away the moment she steps into the occupied room. Only one of the figures turns their head towards her, she hides her disappointment as Nuala looks at her, relief clear on her face. As if they had spoken a silent language Nuala gathers her things and leans over to the other woman curled up on the armchair next to her. She whispers, near silent, to the woman but they both know she can hear her. The woman didn’t reply, she just continued to stare into the roaring flames. Flames are a comfort to the woman, she loved to watch them dance and tell a story,  even though she knew that this had not always been the case. Nuala sighed in disappointment, even though it was obvious she did not expect a reply. She placed a concerned hand on the woman's shoulder before she walked towards the door, stopping short next to the girl.

 

Nuala kept her voice low as she said, “She has not spoken since I got here, and she has not moved since just after dinner. I tried to get her ready for bed but she just kept watching the fire. I figured if anyone can get her to talk, it’s you.” Their close relationship was no secret to the staff, in fact, it was expected. However, it had been a long while since she’d seen the woman like this, and she knew how difficult it was to get the woman out of a slump. Afraid of breaking the silence she only nodded in response. It was all the dismissal Nuala needed as she left, the door clicking to a close behind her.

 

She didn’t move for a moment, she just took in the sight before her. The woman was still in her day clothes, the red material draped over the side of the chair. The woman was faced away from her, so she was unable to see her face. But she could guess what it looked like in this minute. She takes a step forward as if gravitating towards the silent figure.

 

“Don’t come any closer.” She stops in her tracks, the words are low, almost predatory. Confusion washes over her face and then hurt. In all the time she had known the woman, she could count the time she had spoken to her like that on one hand. Even then it was mostly for protection and certain other reasons… but never while she was like this. She opens her mouth to talk to her, to ask, ask what? She couldn’t decide. Ask what had happened? If she was okay? If she could do anything to help But she was cut off before she even gets a word out. “Don’t say anything.”

 

With immortal grace, the woman stood. Her dress falling into place around her, the long slits on both sides revealed her long gracious legs. Her feet were bare and made no move to close the distance between them. Both women remained silent as the took each other in.

The woman did not take her in with a hungry stare like she did when they were together in her chambers this late at night. No, instead her shoulders are tense and her jaw is clenched. Her golden hair is still plaited in a crown across her head, still in place from the day just gone. If it wasn’t for the red eyes and flushed cheeks she would look the picture of dangerous regality.

 

“Mor?” She asks the name a question.

 

The woman turned to face her, their eyes locking for the first time since she had entered the room. It was only now that she realises the woman’s eyes were not red from crying or that her cheeks were not flushed from the heat of the fire. She realises with a start that Mor was angry, and she was angry at her. She took a step back out of instinct, she had seen firsthand what the usually level-headed woman was like when her temper took hold. Sometimes it is easy to forget that the women in front of her is pure blooded Fae and that she had the temper to match.

 

Mor could also be possessive, not with what she did, but with her wellbeing, so when her gaze searched her, roaming over her body, she wasn’t surprised. She knew it was an assessment made by love and continued by habit. Mor’s eyes stopped at her hand, stopped on the ring she wore. Rage was replaced with a look of devastation for only a split second before she composed herself, so quick she would have missed it if she wasn’t searching the other woman for a reaction.

 

“He proposed” It wasn’t a question but she nodded anyway. ‘You said yes” she stated with an air of disbelief. Her fingers nervously found the ring as she nodded again, her cheeks hot with shame.

 

Mor walked towards her, the glow of the fire illuminating less and less of her, but she could still see the smile on her face. The smile is realistic enough to convince others of its sincerity but she would never fall for it. She knows this smile, she has comforted the Fae woman enough times behind closed doors as after using that smile only minutes before to know it is an act. A way to hide her true feelings. She knows the woman standing in front of her, she could see the way her throat bobs every so slightly as if she is swallowing her feelings. She also knows that the slight glisten to her eyes is not due to the lighting, or the way she holds herself so still is because if she moves she might just collapse. Mor holds out an elegant hand.

 

“Let's see it then” She grins, forcing her tone to match the wide smile on her face. How many years of pain must it have taken for this wonderful woman to become so strong, to mask her hurt so well?. Mor must mistake her silence for confusion, “The ring I mean” she clarifies, her fingers impatiently beckoning her.

 

Hesitantly, she joins her hand with Mor’s, her heart sinks as she watches the woman looks closer at the ring. She almost cries at the contact between them. Mor’s elegant hands rub hers, the hands that have comforted her on hard days, and the same one that has made her scream with pleasure on good ones. Her hands that had promised safety and home every time she held them. They promised a life together and now, they were inspecting the ring that promised her to another. She lets the silent tear roll down her cheek. Lets herself feel the loss brought about herself when Mor gently drops her hand.

 

“I’m happy for you Andromache” is all she says. Her voice is tight as if it pains her to say every word. Andromache’s heart crumbles, knowing she has inflicted that pain of the woman she loves. She knows Mor is lying, she knows Mor is willing to let her go if that is what makes her happy.

 

“No you’re not” She breathes, finding her voice at long last. Mor’s heavy gaze finds her own. There is so much unsaid between them, so much they want to do. Andromache would give anything to take the gods damned ring off and throw it in the fire, to be in Mor’s arms and stay there forever. “We both know that’s bullshit”

 

Mor turns away from her, gracefully walking back to the fire. “What do you want me to say?” Her mask has dropped, her voice is soft and almost helpless. Andromache hates herself for not coming to Mor the moment she accepted the proposal, that Mor had to find out for herself. Is that why she was angry when she arrived? It’s not like she could blame her.

 

“I don’t know” she admitted, feeling lost. Mor stopped at the fireplace, watching the fire grow and shrink. “But, I know you better than I know myself. I know when you are happy, and you are most certainly not. I know you will always put your feelings aside as if they don’t matter, when you believe there is a chance someone will be happier without you.” Mor turned to look at her, silent tears glistening in the firelight the only confirmation she’d get. “Your feelings do matter, and I can tell you that I won’t be happier without you.” She breathes, more tears escaping her eyes, rolling down to her chin and hitting her chest with a cold splash. Mor stares at her, shocked by the confession. Andromache was never one to voice her feelings first.

 

“The ring burns me,” She growls, desperate for her to understand, “it burns me because I know it is wrong. It is a cage I was forced into” Andromache forces the ring off of her finger and throws it as far as she can. Both of them are crying freely now, Mor all too familiar with being trapped. “As much as I know in my heart that you are who I should spend the rest of my short mortal life with, I have to marry him. This” she gestures between them, each word breaking her more and more, “will only hurt you in the long run.” Mor opens her mouth to argue, to tell her that she’s wrong, that this is hurting her now, but Andromache holds her finger up. Silencing her, something she has never done before.

 

“The lords are getting restless, I know what they are doing, they are bringing more suitors and they are bringing them more often. They want you to marry, and I am only holding you back from what you must do.” She heaves a sob in Mor’s chest, she had crossed the room during the last part of her speech. She is surrounded by Mor’s scent, so comforting, yet it only makes her cry harder when she realises that this is the last time she’ll be close enough to feel home in her scent. Mor guides them both so that they are sitting on her bed, still wrapped in each other. Andromache breaks the hold first, her hands finding their place on Mor’s bare legs, the touch alone sends shocks through her body. Mor runs a soft hand against her face, unsticking her dark hair from her cheeks.

 

Even though Mor is crying, Andromache can see the fresh determination in her lover's eyes. Pure, burning determination in her voice as she says, “ I will find a way for us to be together, I will find a way for you to remain at my side for the rest of our lives. I have rejected every suitor so far, and I will continue to do so. I will not marry anyone but you. I don’t care how long it takes, I will find a way, my love.” Despite themselves, they both smile. They sit in silence for a while, listening to the fireplace, still as alive as it had been when Andromache had walked in.

 

The ends all too soon for Andromache, the promise falling like the stars on Starfall, there one minute - bright and spectacular, and then gone the next. She moves back on the bed, watching the hope in her lover's eyes. “Even if they allowed two females to wed, they would not allow us to be together.” She had always been the more realistic of the pair, even when it killed her to be, to watch the hope drain from her love. But this time the hope did not burn out. In fact, she didn’t even look the slightest bit concerned. Andromache searched Mor’s eyes for confirmation that she had heard, had understood, what she had said. She had heard, and she had understood but it was if her eyes were saying ‘ _I know but I do not care because I know how to change that’_

 

“You are a queen, I am only a servant. They will not let us wed.” She tried again, making the words clearer for her dreaming queen. She did not look deterred as she thought.

 

“No, they will not” she agrees, yet her determination did not wobble. “But, they would let me marry a queen.”

 

She stills. “What?” Andromache breathes.

 

Mor gives her a knowing look and slides closer to her once again. “Why do you not talk of your homeland? I know you are not from here, I have known for a very long time” Andromache tries to speak, desperate to deny, to defend herself. Mor places her hand on Andromache’s and squeezes, as if to say _It’s okay, let me speak._ “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready, and when you didn’t I gave you time because I fell for you.”

 

Andromache remains silent, lost for words.

 

“Do you remember that day I found you in the library?” She nods, unable to forget the sheer panic she felt. “I knew I had to find out more when I saw how sad and conflicted you were. I told Nuala to give you the day off, you have always worked so hard” More smiles, her eyes gleaming with love. Their conversation had become hushed, the words becoming a secret. “When you saw me you hid the book back on the shelf so fast. What you didn’t know was that I had been stood there long enough to see the longing and pain on your face. See the language written in the cover, one I had only seen once in my five hundred years and knew it was from your home.” Andromache closes her eyes, tears falling freely from them. She knows what's coming.

 

“I’m sorry” She whispers.

 

Mor only shakes her head, dismissing the apology. She lifts her lover's chin when her head falls in shame. “I had Amren translate it for me, I wanted to surprise you with something as a way to ease your homesickness.” Andromache’s heart beats wildly, “She knows the language well so she had no problem translating it for me, she actually learned it from friends who live there.” Mor laughs at her shocked expression  “I know, I was just as surprised as you are.”

 

Andromache cannot work out if she is grateful Mor is trying to lighten the mood or not, instead, she is focusing on keeping her hands from shaking in Mor’s.

 

“She told me the book was about an island, very small and secluded far out in the ocean. She told me that the capital is made from metal and is home to inventors and creators of everything one could think of.  She told me of the family the rules it and the princess who vanished as if by magic”

 

Mor knew. She can see it in her eyes. The knowing look from earlier now making sense, everything she had worked so hard for falling apart because of a stupid, careless mistake. She didn’t want to listen as Mor said softly, “The day in the library was meant to be your coronation day, wasn’t it?”

 

She couldn’t do this, Andromache jumps up, ripping her hands from Mor’s. Slender hands lightly grip her wrist, beckoning her to turn back around and face her. She shakes it off. Just like she tries to shake off the crushing feeling pushing down on her chest. She needs room to breathe, her hands find purchase on the dresser opposite from the bed. She took a deep breath, watching her hands flex. Mor calls her name. She doesn’t reply, she just keeps staring at her hands. She hasn’t got the stomach to face the woman she loves, who she lied to for over a year. She can’t stomach what she ran from.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Mor demands, not angry like before. Instead, she’s desperate, she’s hurt. When she realises that she will not get a reply, she sighs and stands from her position on the bed.

 

“How long have you known?” Andromache breathes the question.

 

“Since lunchtime. Amren knows, by the way, she put the pieces together. And I made her swear to keep it a secret.” Mor replies, anticipating her lovers next two questions. They know each other too well. Relief floods through her, no one will find out. It will still be a secret. A shared secret is still a secret, right?

 

She nods as Mor continues, “That’s why I was angry. You lied to me and that hurt” she admits, “But gods, it didn’t hurt as much as the realization that you didn’t trust me.” Tears trickle down Mor’s cheek, catching the light of the fire. “After everything we’ve been through, everything I told you, and still you do not trust me.”

 

“I was afraid” she snaps. The volume making them both jump.

 

Andromache looks at the door, only a few steps to her right. She could run, every instinct told her to run and never look back.

 

Instead, she did what she should have done before. What her heart had been telling her to do for months. She wills the words to come out of her mouth and turned to Mor.

 

“I was scared that if I told you the truth, I would have to admit it to myself. I kept it a secret so long that it became my past, I was happy here. Happy being with you. I didn’t want to risk losing that” she shakes her head, the thought of losing Mor unbearable. “But I see now that my secrecy has done just that.” Andromache only manages to take the first step towards the door before Mor has hold of her wrist and spins her into her chest, her Fae speed evident.

 

Andromache sobs harder, breathing in Mor’s sweet scent. She doesn’t know how long they stand there, Mor gently rocking the crying girl in her arms. She is hurt, but she understands why she lied. She knows all too well the weight on her shoulders. When her tears stop Andromache mummers into Mor’s chest, words that only Mor’s gifted hearing can comprehend.

 

“You are not a coward, I would never think of you as a coward.” Even with her hair muffling her voice, Andromache can hear the conviction in her voice. “You were young, you _are_ young. You’re allowed to be afraid.” She lifts her head to look into Mor’s eyes. “But you cannot let fear rule you.”

 

She wants to tell her that she knows that, she’s known that for a long time. Instead, she asks “How did you do it? Rule a such a large kingdom with no fear?”

 

Mor laughs. “I was petrified. I still am at times” Andromache looks at the queen with disbelief. The queen had never let on that she had been afraid. “It’s true! Even with Rhysand and Fayre ruling their half, I still feel like I’m going to screw it all up. The size of the land has little effect on how you feel and how you rule.” Andromache snorts at the innuendo, Mor flicks her nose in response. “Why do you think it took me so long to claim the throne?”

 

“I thought it had something to do with your asshole father” She mutters. Mor stares at her for a second before they both burst out laughing.

 

“How do you cope?”

 

“Most recently? You” She grins, “Before you..., I don’t even remember it was so long ago.” Andromache swats at her lover, her laugh joyous in the midnight quiet. When they quiet Mor says “When I am worried that I am failing them, I remember that my people could rulers who are much worse than I if I were to give up my title. It reassures me that I could be a lot worse.”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself. I should have told you myself.”

 

Mor tightens the grip on her shoulders, pulling her in closer. “Never apologize for protecting yourself and doing what is right for you. All I ask is that we keep no more secrets from each other. After all, it is no way to start an engagement”

 

Andromache peers up at Mor, noting her smile and hopeful eyes. The question burning behind them. “You still wish to marry me?”

 

Mor furrows her eyebrows, offended at the question. “Of course I do, this changes nothing. I have always known you were my - that I loved you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together, however long that may be. And should you take your title, I will be there to support you. If you choose not to, I will support you then as well. What do you say?”

 

Andromache is nodding furiously before Mor can even finish her sentence. Her hands grasp either side of Mor’s face as she kisses her once in confirmation, and twice as a promise.

 

Neither woman thinks about the ring thrown to the floor as they celebrate their engagement together.


End file.
